Breakfast
by Girl Who Writes
Summary: She tastes like Maureen’s cherry soda, and he feels her eyelashes against his face, and he pulls her closer. Roger and Mimi.


**Title: **Breakfast

**Author:** GirlWhoWrites

**Feedback: **If you feel moved, it would be lovely.

**Pairing: **Mimi/Roger

**Word Count: **770

**Rating: **PG-M

**Genre: **Fluff

**Summary: **She tastes like Maureen's cherry soda, and he feels her eyelashes against his face, and he pulls her closer**  
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**Notes: **Okay, this is my first ever Rent fic, so be gentle. It usually takes me a fic or two to really get my style tight and happy. It's a little bit random, but I am fairly happy with how it turned out. Written for speed rent at livejournal.**  
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**Special Thanks: **To lemelie for listening to me whine and helping me with the little details.**  
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**Spoilers:** Seen the movie? Excellent. I wrote it post-Life Café in mind but pre-NYE.**  
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**Warnings: **Suggestive-ness.**  
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**Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters. I rent. Jonathon Larson did, and I assume the film studio now has a major claim.

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Mark's gone the next day when he emerges from his makeshift bedroom, in search of coffee. He leaves Mimi wrapped up in the blankets on the bed, still asleep, her hair tangled on the pillow they shared for most of the night. She smells like cigarette smoke and rainwater, an almost comforting smell. April had always left his bed smelling like her almost sickly-scented flowery perfume and heroin.

Mark obviously never came home, a wise decision, Roger thinks ruefully. Both of them are familiar with the thin makeshift walls they rigged up, and how they were just visual privacy; sounds tended to echo throughout the loft.

But no Mark, which means no inky coffee. There isn't any left from the previous morning, and he couldn't find any coffee – the cupboards held two packets of powdered custard and a cigarette stub. The fridge held half a pint of sour milk, a decomposing apple and about sixty cans of Maureen's diet cherry soda in the vegetable crisper.

"Fan-fuckin'-tastic," Roger muttered under his breath. "Maureen drinks all the beer, and leaves us with this fruity shit."

He was tempted to call Mark and ask (demand) he bring home supplies (beer, coffee and no god-damned bananas), but that would involve ringing Angel and Collins, and Maureen and Joanne, and admitting Mark wasn't home, which would lead to questions about why…

Maureen's diet soda it was.

"Morning."

Roger tried not to wince as he turned around to find Mimi already in her tights and dress from the previous evening, running her fingers through her hair as she dropped her cardigan and boots to the floor.

"Morning." Fuck, he hated this, awkward conversation before one of them fled. She seemed to be avoiding his eyes, and for about three seconds, he missed the mornings he and April would drag themselves out of bed for a hit before showering or dressing or eating. There were few, if any, pleasantries exchanged as April would tighten the belt around her arm, her lips pursed in concentration…

"There's no coffee," he suddenly blurted out, looking up at her. "Or food."

"I haven't got anything downstairs, either." She shrugged her thin shoulders and looked over his shoulder into the fridge.

"Well, seems like we don't have much choice," she grins up at him, and pulls two cans out of the fridge and pulls the luminous red contents into two coffee cup and hands one to him. "Breakfast."

She jumps up and sits on the metal table, one leg tucked under. And he watches as she sips at the soda, her hair falling in her eyes. He sits beside her, and she turns to smile at him, and she's so close…

She tastes like Maureen's cherry soda, and he feels her eyelashes against his face, and he pulls her closer. The coffee cups – old, tin ones – are shoved off the table and splash red soda all over the floor. Mimi laughs into his mouth and wraps her arms around him.

It's about that time… or sometime after Roger took off his shirt, that the door to the loft slide open and revealed Mark holding a brown paper bag most likely containing coffee, and flanked by Maureen, Collins and Angel.

"Oh, God!" Mark turned around from the scene on the loft's kitchen table, paused, handed the bag to Maureen and began to rifle through his satchel for his camera. Angel had her hand clapped over her mouth, and Collins was grinning like a fool, chuckling.

And as Mark wound the film on, with an evil grin on his face, narrating, "10:57a.m, Eastern Standard Time, Roger…" Roger went to sit up, and ended up on the floor, flat on his back, in a puddle of red soda. And Mimi was laughing so hard, there were tears on her cheeks, swinging her legs down to stare at Roger on the floor.

"Oh, sweetie," Angel stepped forward. "Are you okay?"

Roger huffed, pulling himself out of the puddle and started to storm off to the bathroom. As the door slammed, they could hear him yell back, "Maureen drank all the fuckin' coffee!"

Maureen shrugged, and daintily stepped over the puddle. "I drank the beer. Mark drank the coffee," she half cooed, fishing a tin of the soda from the fridge.

Angel went to Mimi's side, with a smug smile on her face. "Good night, honey?"

Mimi started to laugh, and turned to face the bathroom door, where Roger could still be heard muttering under his breath.

"I might go help him clean up," she replied with an innocent expression, slipping off to the bathroom.

Mark turned to the other three. "Breakfast at Maureen's?" he suggested hastily.

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End file.
